“The French do not come hither to see. _A l’Anglaise_ happened to be the word in fashion; and half a dozen of the most fashionable people have been the dupes of it. I take for granted that their next mode will be _à l’Iroquaise_, that they may be under no obligation of realising their pretensions. Madame de Boufflers I think will die a martyr to a taste, which she fancied she had, and finds she has not. Never having stirred ten miles from Paris, and having only rolled in an easy coach from one hotel to another on a gliding pavement, she is already worn out with being hurried from morning till night from one sight to another. She rises every morning so fatigued with the toils of the preceding day, that she has not strength, if she had inclination, to observe the least, or the finest thing she sees! She came hither to-day to a great breakfast I made for her, with her eyes a foot deep in her head, her hands dangling, and scarce able to support her knitting-bag. She had been yesterday to see a ship launched, and went from Greenwich by water to Ranelagh. Madame Dusson, who is Dutch-built, and whose muscles are pleasure-proof, came with her; there were besides, Lady Mary Coke, Lord and Lady Holdernesse, the Duke and Duchess of Grafton, Lord Hertford, Lord Villiers, Offley, Messieurs de Fleury, D’Eon, et Duclos. The latter is author of the Life of Louis Onze; dresses like a dissenting minister, which I suppose is the livery of a _bel esprit_, and is much more impetuous than agreeable. We breakfasted in the great parlour, and I had filled the hall and large cloister by turns with French horns and clarionettes. As the French ladies had never seen a printing-house, I carried them into mine; they found something ready set, and desiring to see what it was, it proved as follows: “The Press speaks-- “FOR MADAME DE BOUFFLERS. “‘The graceful fair, who loves to know, Nor dreads the north’s inclement snow; Who bids her polish’d accent wear The British diction’s harsher air; Shall read her praise in every clime Where types can speak or poets rhyme. “FOR MADAME DUSSON. “Feign not an ignorance of what I speak; You could not miss my meaning were it Greek: ’Tis the same language Belgium utter’d first, The same which from admiring Gallia burst. True sentiment a like expression pours; Each country says the same to eyes like yours.